A Way With Words
by WordsSeenThroughABrokenGlass
Summary: Sherlock finally decides to read a fictional book. But what happens when those books start coming true? What would happen to London if Sherlock can't find the reason why before too late?
1. Chapter 1

**A Way With Words**

***I own nothing that is or was created in Sherlock, but I do own Amethyst and her stories ***

**~Sorry this chapters are so short, after a while they'll start to get longer, trust me. Yea and I get it, it's confusing in the beginning, if you could please just wait until the third chapter, Zanks ;)~**

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Chapter One

June 16th

Amethyst put down her pen, after neatly writing, 'Or so they thought'. Another one of her stories, finished and ready to send. She couldn't help that she couldn't end her story, at least not yet. Every good mystery book she'd ever read, they always had a good twist at the end, and an excellent hook, but she wondered if she was overdoing it a bit. She had made sure the guy was dead, and she wondered if people would actually like her second book, or if they'd think it is horrible and overdone. Amethyst didn't really want that.

She picked up a piece of blank paper, getting ready to make the cover page. She sat there for a moment, twisting her pen in her pale fingers. Throughout the whole book she couldn't think of a good title. She had been through so many, 'Who?', 'The Man', and many others, but none of them seemed right. Amethyst went down to the bottom of the page and signed her name, Amethyst S. Arnya.

For a while Amethyst just sat there, wondering what the title should be. After a while she put her pen down and stood up, fed up with her thoughts. She just had so many, but she couldn't sort them out, not for the life of her. She strode into her kitchen and grabbed her laptop.

It was becoming a bad habit of hers to start searching things when she couldn't think. She blinked a couple times when her computer background stared at her. It was picture of a silver sword, with an emerald gem in the golden hilt. Around the base of the hilt was wrapped a blue silk scarf.

Quickly she pulled up the Internet and searched 'mystery'. Her emerald eyes scanned the screen looking for a good article. None of them looked worth-while, and then a picture caught her eyes. It was a picture of a man with unkempt black hair. His skin was unusually pale, and he had a worn out blue scarf on. Amethyst looked at the title of the article, and saw that it was a website, a blog actually. It was by a guy named John Watson. Instantly she clicked on the link, wondering why a blog came up. She was greeted by what looked like the name of book. Amethyst scrolled down, scanning the words before her. Several times the name Sherlock Holmes was mentioned.

Every now and then she would actually read a couple of the sentences. The man, Sherlock Holmes, seemed like quite the interesting man. He solved mysteries, he was like a walking mystery book, or so Amethyst thought.

Amethyst kept scrolling down, looking for a story that looked good. She kept scrolling and scrolling, until she reached practically the bottom. The last one she saw was called, A Study in Pink. She thought that the first was the best place to start.

She was all of half way through it, and she already loved it. She opened a new tab, and searched Sherlock Holmes. The first link that popped up was labeled, The Science of Deduction. Instantly Amethyst clicked it and read the page. She was hooked.

_This Sherlock guy seems cool, maybe some of his mysteries could help me think of a title,_ Amethyst thought, intent to read more of his stories.

**Later…**

Amethyst finally set down her laptop, a grin on her face. She absolutely loved John's stories. She had even thought of a title for her newest book, 'The Man Who Knew Too Much'.

She picked up her pen and neatly wrote it down on her cover page, at the very top. In the middle was a giant gap left for her picture. Instantly she got to work, drawing lines.

**Later…**

Amethyst set down her pen, happy with her work. On the page before her was a picture of a man's face. His hair was unkempt. His face was turned to the side, so you only saw one eye, peering into your soul. One of his hands held up his coat collar, hiding his neck, and most of his face. She got the idea from looking at a picture of Sherlock Holmes. She had made sure that it wasn't to close, but close enough that it had the same feeling.

She couldn't wait for the book to be out to the public.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Way With Words**

***Once again, I own nothing except Amethyst and her stories***

**~Again like I said before, just wait till the third chapter for things to start making a little sense.~**

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Chapter Two

June 26th

"Sherlock!" John yelled as he walked into their flat, holding a new book. He walked up the stairs, the book still in his hands. "Sherlock!" he yelled again, at the top of the stairs.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, as she walked out of the kitchen. "There you are John. I hope you got the book, Sherlock won't even speak now.

John slowly shook his head as he walked to the chairs. His friend was going through another one of the moments when there was nothing to solve, well nothing good at least. He stopped behind the chair that Sherlock was sitting in, and dropped the book he got in Sherlock's lap.

Slowly Sherlock looked up at John. "What's this?" he asked, not even looking at the book.

"I believe it's called a book," John sighed, sitting in the chair next to Sherlock's.

Sherlock looked down at his lap, and at the book. His eyes soon became full of curiosity as he scrutinized the cover. "The Man Who Knew Too Much?" he said, holding the book up. "By, Amethyst S. Arnya? Who's that?"

"She's supposed to be a real good mystery author, thought you could give it a try."

Sherlock looked down at the book again and tilting his head, as if considering what to do. His fingers leafed through the pages, opening to the first one. He started to read.

**Later…**

John got up from the chair, and looked at Sherlock. He was still in his chair, his legs folded beneath him. He held the book John got him up to his nose, his eyes moving back and forth.

John hadn't expected Sherlock to actually like the book, he hated most mysteries. He thought they were too easily solved. But there was clearly something different about that one.

John gave a small cough. Sherlock slowly looked up from the book, not wanting to tear his eyes away. "Yes?" he asked, his eyes full of impatience.

"I was gunna ask if you were coming to bed, but I can tell the answer's no," John sighed, a slight smile on his face.

"You're getting smarter John, told you, you would just give it enough time," Sherlock replied, turning back to his book.

John just shook his head, and headed to their room.

**Later…**

John sat up, his mind still groggy. He looked beside him, but the bed was empty, other than him. He shook his head, a smile on his face. He stood up and got dressed, betting that he'd find Sherlock where he left him last night.

John walked out of their room, and into the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Hudson. "Morning'," John sighed as he poured himself some coffee.

"John," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "I think you should go wake Sherlock, he fell asleep on the chair."

John looked up from his coffee and towards where Sherlock was. He grabbed another cup and poured some more coffee. He grabbed the two cups and walked toward Sherlock.

He set down his coffee, but kept Sherlock's in hand. "Hey," he said, shaking him. Sherlock gave a slight moan as he opened his eyes. He instantly closed his eyes as he repositioned himself. Once he stopped moving, John held out the cup of coffee. When Sherlock didn't open his eyes, or move to take the coffee, John waved it below his nose.

"Just give me the coffee," Sherlock sighed, opening his eyes again. He grabbed the cup. He took a sip and looked around him. On the floor beside him was the book he read that night. Slowly he picked it up and set it on the table.

"I'm guessing that's a good book," John said as he motioned to 'The Man Who Knew Too Much'.

"It is, actually. Great plot and an unexpected ending. You should read it."

Then the two men fell into silence. Both of them just sipping their coffee.

But then Sherlock broke the silence, "Does she have any more stories?"

John looked up suddenly, "Yea, plenty more."

"Can you get them for me? They really are good. I didn't expect to like it at first, let's hope the others are like this one, huh?"

"Yea, sure, when do you want me to get them?"

Sherlock then dug into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He opened it, and pulled out his credit card. He put away his wallet and threw the card at John. "How 'bout now?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A Way With Words**

***Once again, I own only Amethyst and her stories. The great work of Sherlock goes to Steven Moffat***

**~Hopefully this makes up for the confusion, smallness, and slowness of the first two chapters~**

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Chapter Three

June 29th

Sherlock looked up from his books, and from his total indifference to the world. His phone had buzzed. When he opened it, he blinked several times from the brightness. The time read, '6:28 A.M.'.

Slowly he looked around the room, seeing if anyone else was up, not that he expected anyone to be. He heard Mrs. Hudson downstairs, but other than that, nothing. Sherlock looked back down at his phone to see who texted him. It was Lestrade. Sherlock hadn't heard from him in a while.

He wearily read the message, 'Sherlock, I think you should come to 34 Mourners Street and look at this murder. It's not typical; the girl was tied to the ceiling. There is no evidence. This is right up your alley, please come, quick. L'

A big grin appeared on Sherlock's face as he finished reading. He threw down the book and jumped up. He instantly slid into his shoes. He paused for a moment to stretch his muscles after sitting in one place for three days. He reached for his coat and put it on, then he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"John!" he called a grin still on his face. "Come on! We got work to do!"

**Later…**

John and Sherlock walked up to 34 Mourners Street. Dozens of police cars were parked outside. The whole yard was taped off. Only one person was standing by it, Sergeant Sally Donovan. "'Ello freak!" she sighed, irritation overwhelming all other feelings.

Sherlock didn't even acknowledge her. He just kept walking. When he reached the tape he just lifted it up, and waited for John to follow him. Sherlock's smile became even wider when he heard Sally let out a loud sigh behind them.

Lestrade met John and Sherlock outside the house, taking of a pair of white gloves off. "Glad you could come," he said.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Sherlock replied.

Lestrade shook his head and walked back into the house. "Her name was Halie Saunders," he explained. "Her kids found her. She's in the attic. Her necks cut, one leg broken, three ribs cracked, dislocated shoulder, and, well, tied to the ceiling." Instantly Lestrade stopped just outside the attic door. "We haven't taken her down yet, figured it would be better to leave her up there."

Sherlock smiled and looked at John, excitement filling his eyes. "You did a good job leaving her there," he sighed, reaching for the attic doorknob. He strode in, leaving John and Lestrade behind him. In the middle of the room was Anderson.

"You can look at her, just don't contaminate her, she's evidence," he said, watching Sherlock.

"Why would I contaminate her," Sherlock replied, giving him a slight push out of the way. "Now, you should leave before this building's IQ is lowered."

With a loud sigh, Anderson stalked out of the room, clearly annoyed with Sherlock.

Sherlock stood under the body of Halie Saunders. Her once bright blue eyes were now wide open and lifeless. Her neck was slit, with the dried blood making it look even more gruesome than it really was. Her right leg was turned in the wrong way. She had one of her black heels on, the other one was on the floor. Her left shoulder was twisted farther back then it was supposed to be. She was tied to her ceiling rafters by a silver chain. The chain itself seemed to be inscribed with letters from some other language. _Latin maybe? _Sherlock thought.

He looked to the door and saw that the doorknob was more than one colour, it had blood on it. He quickly shut the door a little, and saw that the wood was scratched, and marked. But it wasn't the handiwork of nails, but of a knife. The lines seemed to jumble together up close. Sherlock stepped back and studied the mark. It was a U with a t underneath it, and in the middle of the U, was a small o. Then right below it was three sixes, but in Greek.

"John!" he called, unaware that he was right beside him.

"Yea? I'm right here," John scoffed back, looking at the symbol with puzzlement.

"Take a picture of the woman, the chain, and that symbol."

"You have a phone too."

"I have more important things to do."

John just stood there as Sherlock walked away. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of the strange symbol, then of the woman, then zoomed in on the chains. When he turned around, Sherlock was gone. He looked helplessly at Lestrade who had said nothing during the whole two minutes. "Where?" John asked, not needing to finish the sentence.

"He said he had to check something," Lestrade answered.

John let out a sigh as he dialed Sherlock's number. He sat there for a minutes it rang. He was about to hang up when Sherlock answered.

"John," he said. "Something about this isn't right."

"Well, is it the dead woman, tied to the ceiling, the weird markings on the chain, or the strange symbol?" John replied sarcastically.

"No, don't be an idiot. I read about this."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lestrade asked, walking over next to John, who had the phone on speaker-phone.

"What are you, idiots? It means that someone is getting their inspiration from a book," Sherlock sighed. In the background John and Lestrade heard a cab door close.

"I'd love to believe that this was a person, Sherlock, but there are no prints, hair, or anything linking a person to the murder," Lestrade sighed, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

"What do you mean there was no evidence?" Sherlock asked hastily. "It had to be a person, what kind of creature could have done that?"

"Hey, Sherlock," John said. "That mark, excluding the sixes, is the Greek mark of Hades."

Lestrade looked up at John, as if he couldn't believe what he just heard.

"The mark of Hades?" Sherlock said. John ad Lestrade could now hear him shuffling through what sounded like books.

"Yea, mean anything to you?" John explained.

"Got it!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Got what?" Lestrade asked, his heart in his throat, whenever Sherlock found something that wasn't the murderer, it was just trouble.

"The book that reminds me of this."

"What book?" John asked, thoroughly confused.

"The Foreign Marks, by that Amethyst girl," Sherlock exclaimed. He had just finished reading it last night. "I'm gunna come meet up with you guys."

Before Lestrade or John could say anything, Sherlock hung up. Neither of them understood anything that Sherlock said, but they both trusted his judgment. Most the time he was right, and they learned not to argue his decision.

Within ten minutes Sherlock arrived again, this time he was carrying a paperback book. "Here," he said as he threw the book at John. "Read the back."

John flipped it over and started to read, "London: 1867, a year where several murders take place. And with each murder, a mark is found. Each murder different, each marks the same. Only two things link these murders, the marks, and there is no evidence."

"Well, we have a mark, and a strange symbol, so you think that it's based off this book?" Lestrade asked, his voice full of doubt.

"Yes, this is the first murder, now listen to the first murder in the book," Sherlock sighed. He grabbed the book from John's hands and opened to the page where the first murder took place. "There on the ceiling, was a woman in black. Her leg bent to the wrong side, her shoulder too far back, and a slit neck. Her blue eyes that once were full of life just looked into the nothingness of Death. A strange chain bound her to her ceiling rafters. It had strange Latin marks covering it. On the closed door was a strange mark, a U with a t under it. In the middle was an o. Right below the mark were three sixes, written in Greek. They were not marked into the door by, but by a knife. Not a single piece of evidence was there in the room, or anywhere, it was as if no one killed her, but she killed herself." Sherlock let out a breath, and looked at Lestrade and John. "See the likeness now, you idiots?"

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**Reviews~ Rett: Zanks a lot! That's nice to hear. You're probably the only one who is not confused.**

**Anon: Yea I figured...if you read this, I hope it makes it bit more sense. ;)**

**Mad Squirrel: Hope this makes it less confusing.**

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**I'd love to know what you guys think, really! I don't even know how this is gunna end, maybe ya'll can send me some ideas, maybe even try to guess what's going on! ;) Zanks! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A Way With Words**

***I own nothing that is or was created in Sherlock, but I do own Amethyst and her stories ***

**~Yea, I know this is a short chapter, sorry~**

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Chapter Four

June 29th (Later)

"So what do we do?" Lestrade asked as he walked into his office. Sherlock and John were sitting in the chairs in front of his desk.

Sherlock looked up as Lestrade set papers down on his desk. "Well for one, we stick to the story,' he said.

"Care to elaborate?"

"What? You don't get it. The murderer wants us to play a game. He's playing with the rules from the book. He has set up the board exactly like described in the book. Now we have to play along."

John looked over at Sherlock, skepticism in his eyes. "Well, if we know what he's going to do, according to the book, we can stop him," he said, feeling proud that he may have thought of something before Sherlock.

"I wish it were that simple, but it's not."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked, wishing that things were really that simple. "He's playing the 'rules' according to the book. And the book says who he will murder next, so we find the person that matches that description and capture him."

"He's too smart to let us do that. He's smart enough to murder people exactly like some person wrote in a book. He spent all that time to make sure it looks like the book, he wanted us to know where he got his idea, which means he will also expect us to try and beat him to his murder."

"Which means?" John asked.

"It means that he will be ready if we try to beat him."

"And he'll change which book he copies," John concluded. Sherlock just nodded. "So we can't save those people." John closed his eyes, forcing himself to accept the truth.

"There must be something we can do!" Lestrade exclaimed. He may not have known as much as Sherlock, but he did know that he wasn't just going to sit back and watch people be murdered.

All of a sudden all their phones beeped, showing that they all received texts. All of them knew it was nothing good. Slowly all of them took out their phones, and looked at the screens. _Why don't you just let things play out for once Sherlock, let the book play itself out. Besides, all books come to an end eventually. _

The three friends looked up at each other, unsure what to do, or say. "Well, that's a good way to get our attention," Lestrade sighed. He got up from his chair, and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked suddenly, before Lestrade left.

"He said to let the book play out, maybe he will stop if we leave him be."

Sherlock looked up, slightly confused. "Why would you do that?" he asked. "If anything you would want to act irrationally, like always."

"Irrationally? No, you know what, never mind," Lestrade said as he left the room.

John and Sherlock got up and followed him out quickly, unsure of what was happening. "Lestrade!" John yelled as they followed him. But he kept going.

They followed him outside. He got into a car and started to drive away. John began to call for a cab, but Sherlock stopped him short. "What?" John snapped as he watched Lestrade drive away.

"Leave him be," Sherlock said shortly. "He'll tell us eventually, he doesn't want to do what he said, someone has his hands tied."

"His hands are tied?" John asked, the anger and frustration leaving.

"His eyes lingered a bit longer on his phone than we did, his text had something added to it."

"Like a threat?"

"Exactly."

**Later…**

John and Sherlock sat down on their couch at the flat. Neither of them knew what to do. John started to think of what kind of threat could do such a thing to Lestrade. He watched as Sherlock pulled a book off the table. It was the book that John originally got him. "Do you think its coincidence?" he asked. It had been bugging him for a while.

"What?" Sherlock responded, looking up from the book cover.

"I asked if you thought that it was a coincidence."

"What's the supposed coincidence?"

"Well, you just finished reading those books, then all of a sudden, there's a murder that looks just like one in the books. Do you think that's a coincidence?"

"No, definitely not a coincidence"

"Well, then, what is it then?"

Sherlock went silent for a moment, thinking. John didn't like the way his friend just sat there, starting at the back of the book. Usually murders like this excited him, but now he was silent and just sat there. "Sherlock?" John asked, worried.

"Shut up," he murmured.

John didn't. "Sherlock?"

"Shut up," he said a little louder.

"Sherlock!"

"John! Shut up for a moment!"

John just sat there, stunned. Something was really bothering his friend, and he needed to find out what.

The two of them just sat there in silence.

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**Reviews~ Hatter: Zanks, I wasn't quite sure if it would clear up the story/problem enough ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Way With Words**

***I own nothing, once again, not even darkness***

**~Ok so this one's a little short, but It think it's pretty good. And I am soooooo sorry about the wait (for those who care) my computer's hard drive broke and we had to send it away and I just got it back today! I'm really sorry, so I'm going to update this story and my other one. And before I forget, all of this takes place after the Reichienbach Fall, so there will be flashbacks later on. I think this is enough talking on my part now, I'll let you read the story now.~**

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Chapter Five

June 30th (Mid-night-ish)

Lestrade strode up the three steps leading up to Sherlock and John's flat door. He quickly knocked. His breath was short from running, and his hands shook from his nerves. Although it only was a couple of seconds, it seemed like minutes to the inspector. He had one of his shaking, pale hands on his gun that was strapped to his side.

He anxious, and he was scared.

Just then he heard a sudden thump from beside him. He looked over instantly and in to the dark ally. There was a lone lamp at the entrance, but it was not enough to cover the whole ally.

Lestrade took out his gun and walked back down the steps. He pointed his gun in front of him at all times, ready for anything. But he really wasn't. His mind was scattered into a million different places, his breath was skipping, and his heart was beating at the speed of a running horse. He wasn't ready for anything.

"This is Detective-Inspector Lestrade and I am ordering you to come out, whoever you are!" he yelled into the nothingness. Nothing happened.

He began to sink deeper into the darkness that was in front of him. Although he was scared, his curiosity began to over take him. Then he was completely engulfed. He could see nothing. He couldn't tell which way was foreword, where the end was, or where the beginning was. Lestrade had been succumbed to the darkness.

Behind him, a place he couldn't see, a pale hand reached out. It didn't shake, it didn't tremble, it just reached out toward Lestrade. And then it grabbed him in the darkness, taking him away from all light, from all help, and from all hope.

**Meanwhile…**

"John!" Sherlock yelled from the other room. "I think you should come over here! And hurry!"

John ran into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. "What?!" He looked down and saw that his friend had surrounded himself with the mystery books he had given him.

"I think Lestrade's in trouble," Sherlock put shortly. He looked up at his flatmate with concern, something John had never seen since the Reichenbach incident.

"And what makes you think that?"

Sherlock picked the book that the first crime was based off of. "In this book, after the first murder, the main inspector is taken, and this man may not only be re-inacting the murders, but possibly the whole book, including that scene."

John realized his friend's dismay. Lestrade had helped them on so many cases, and helped Sherlock so much after Moriarty died. Lestrade was Sherlock's best friend after John. And they both owed him so much, and they couldn't let him die. They wouldn't.

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**Reviews~ ChelGallifreya221B61: I put it like that, with the whole, ten days apart because I was trying to signify that she is just that popular that her books would get published within that time, but I guess that didn't work...**

**Guest: Zank-you so much. And yes as you see I will write more. ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Way With Words**

***I own nothing, once again, not even darkness***

**~Okay, I know it's been forever since I updated, and I'm sorry, between school and a whole bunch of other crap, I haven't had many chances to type/write, sorry**

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Chapter Six

July 1st

**Somewhere in London...**

Lestrade had no clue where he was. He couldn't remember. All he knew for sure that his head hurt. It ached and burned. It felt like drums were being played right beside him, always the same beat, boom-boom-boom-boom. It never changes, and the pain never lessened.

Behind him a large figure moved. The shadows seemed to shift around it, making room. In its left hand, it held something. It had a circular form, but not exactly. It held what seemed to be hair. And at the bottom of that, was the circular object.

**Scotland Yard...**

John was overwhelmed by the sound. Other inspectors, detectives, and policemen were all talking at once. There were at least a hundred of them there, but they couldn't find the one they were looking for. He wasn't in his office, and he wasn't where he normally was. Sherlock was still in Lestrade's office.

"What are you guys doing here?" Sally said as she walked up beside John. She had stacks of paper in her hands. One of them caught his eye. It was labeled _Unknown, _they never had any unknowns.

Sally noticed that John was looking at the papers in her hand. "Don't tell Anderson this, but I could really use some help with these cases."

John was surprised. She hated him and Sherlock. She would never let them help, unless Lestrade had passed it. "With what exactly?" John practically dared to ask.

"Do you honestly need to know?" she responded, bitterness was evident in her tone.

"Sally!" Sherlock yelled as he strode towards the two. "What have you done with the ever faithful Lestrade?!"

Sally was shocked. "What do you mean?! I haven't done anything!"

Sherlock just stared simply at her. Then he suddenly grabbed the files from Sally's hands. "I'd ask you why this is unsolved, but I already know. You took Lestrade away because he would be the only one to figure it out."

"I did no such thing to Lestrade! Why do you keep saying that?!" Sally stomped away, muttering words to herself.

John was confused, which wasn't anything new. "What was that for?"

"To see if she did it," he replied plainly.

"Even I knew she didn't do it."

"There was a suspicion that she was helping, so we are going to see what happens."

**Somewhere in London (again)...**

Lestrade could hardly keep himself from gagging. There was a severed head right in front of him. The smell was horrendous. Lestrade had seen that face before. It was not one he could lightly forget. It was the face of his son.

**Review~ Ynnealay: Zank-you soooo much. You are an awesome person little Miss. M.A.P.E.L.!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Way With Words**

***I'm sorta getting tired of saying things I don't own :(***

**~I'M BAAAAACK! I feel sooooo sorry people; school just really takes a toll on me and I have little time to write. Between that and my book I'm supposed to be rewriting I'm out of time for this which makes me like super sad. I know you guys are probably getting really tired of my excuses, so I'm going to say this now, I'm going to post at least a new chapter a week~**

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Chapter Seven

July 2nd

**Flat 221B...**

Sherlock was frustrated. He had read 'The Foreign Marks' for the fifth time, and he still came up with nothing of use. It gave off no real good hints as to where the head detective was kept. All it said was somewhere dark, dank, isolated, and large. There were plenty of places like that in London if he was even in London anymore.

The only thing it really said was that his son was murdered, but as far as Sherlock knew, Lestrade had no children.

Sherlock didn't look up when John entered the room with two cups of tea in his hands.

They were getting nowhere, and they both knew it. The murders were too perfect. Everything was the same. They couldn't do anything. Their hands were tied.

"How 'bout you tell me what it says in the book?" John asked, breaking the awkward silence between the two friends.

Without looking at the book Sherlock quoted, word for word, "He was somewhere he didn't know. Somewhere new. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his head, where he had been hit. He could feel the warm blood around the open wound, matting his hair together. He was bound to a chair by chains, just like the ones from the crime. Just beyond the shadows stood a man. The shadows cloaked him, engulfing him. But Detective Grey could clearly make out an object in the man's hand. He didn't want to. He tried so hard to not look, but there was nothing he could do. His son's head. Right there. So empty. He-"

"I think that's enough" John sighed. He sunk into the chair, despair creeping up. Of all the cases he has been on with Sherlock, not one had been like this one. Then an idea came. "Why don't we just the author?"

Sherlock looked at John as if he had lost his mind. "What good would that do; that place is fake."

"All places have some sort of base. The whole story takes place in London, which means that the building we're looking for is somewhere here too." John was pleased with himself; he had proposed an idea that Sherlock had not thought of. Of course, that worried him. If his friend could not think of it, then he was truly troubled.

Although Sherlock was clearly in deep despair, he jumped up from his seat and pulled his coat and scarf on. Before John could even get up, he was out the door.

**Other side of London...**

Sam walked into her apartment and put her purse on the counter. She strode over to the light switch and flipped the switch. But nothing happened. The lights didn't turn on.

She mentally cursed and started toward the breaker box. But she didn't make it there. She didn't even make it two steps. The only place she went was on the ceiling with a chain.

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**Reviews~ Ynnealay: I will keep writing!**

**timer2: No, it is not a remake of it, sorry. To be honest I've never seen Bones. So I guess I should now say I don't own that idea either. I just thought it would be cool to have murders take after those is a book. ;)**

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**Well, there you go guys. Hope you like it! I'm expecting to have another chapter up by the end of the week, maybe two chapters. ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A Way With Words**

***I'm sorta getting tired of saying things I don't own :(***

**~Told you I'd update every week!~**

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Chapter Eight

Late July 2nd

**Some Random Taxi Cab...**

Sherlock gazed out the window of the cab they were in. To him, everything went by slowly. Nothing seemed to change. It all looked the same to him. It looked like a child's water-colour painting. Everything was hazy, and that's what scared Sherlock. To him, everything was always, always precise, there was never a time when it wasn't, but when his friend needed him the most, it wasn't.

Beside him sat John. He just sat there, staring at his hands. He would have said something to Sherlock, but he knew he wouldn't listen. John knew that his friend was having troubles, and he didn't blame him.

So the two of them just sat there in silence. They were heading to Amethyst S. Arnya's house to see what she thought of when she wrote 'The Foreign Marks'.

All of a sudden Sherlock's phone buzzed twice, but he didn't look at it, he didn't even acknowledge it. John looked at his friend, his eyes full of despair. "Sherlock," he sighed, but Sherlock didn't respond. "Sherlock!" he repeated a little louder. This time he did respond. He didn't say anything though. He just reached in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and gave it to John.

John wasn't going to argue, at least he did something. John looked down at the screen. There was a new text. _There's been a murder at the corner of 5th and May St. It's just like the other one. Sally_

"So what is it?" Sherlock asked quietly. John looked up suddenly.

"There's been another murder," John sighed, handing the phone back. Sherlock grabbed it out out John's hand and sat up straight. He leaned foreword and told the cabbie to step on it.

**At the murder scene..**.

Sally looked up from her phone. She wished that Lestrade was there. She couldn't handle this on her own. "Miss Sally" some forensics guy yelled. Sally looked up to find a man running towards her, it wasn't Anderson though. He had something in his hand. A bag. The bag something in it though. A disk. It had a disk in it. The guy was in front of her now. "This was found on the counter," the man breathed. "It's labeled to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson."

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**Reviews~ Ynnealay: Thank-you! Again!**

**marye: Zank-you! Hope you like the chapter!**

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**Hehe! Bet you guys don't know what's on the disk! I do! Although, I bet some of you guys could guess it.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A Way With Words**

***I DON'T OWN NUTTIN***

**~Gahhhh! I'm sorry! Last week was hectic, and I would have posted earlier this week but guess what! I caught the flu! Yay for me! So I haven''t had the energy to do anything but sleep but I felt it would be mean not to post anything before Christmas week, by the way I won't be posting that week at all most likely. Anyways! Here you go guys!~**

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Chapter Nine

Early July 3rd (2 in the morning)

**Abandoned Warehouse...**

The man wouldn't talk to Lestrade, no matter how much he was prodded. For the past two days he had had to deal with the detective-inspector, and it was driving him mad. He was reaching his breaking point, and his breaking point was not pretty.

"Will you at least tell me your bloody name!?" Lestrade yelled from across the room. "Come on! Maybe we can work something out!"

The man knew that they couldn't work anything out. He had already killed three people, and he knew that was unforgivable. He was about to change his thought direction when something hit him. Maybe having a conversation with the inspector wasn't so bad. It was bound to happen at some point. "Why do you want to know my name?" he asked. His voice was rough and prickly, and made Lestrade think of a porcupine or cactus.

"I typically like to know who has captured me," Lestrade responded, a bit taken back by the way his captor responded.

"Why? Do you get beat often?"

"No!" Lestrade shouted, his pride a little hurt.

The two men went silent. "Well, if you're not going to give me your name, then I'll just have to call you Alex," Lestrade sighed.

The man didn't care, in fact he didn't even really hear Lestrade speak. He just stared out the the hole he had punched in the wall, way above the empty streets. He could just imagine seeing someone on the road. But not standing, laying. With pools of blood surrounding them. The man smiled at the thought, but he knew it couldn't happen, not yet. He turned around.

Lestrade had to hold his breath. His face was covered in blood, his eyes were practically black, and his mouth was in a large grin. "You wished to know my name, did you not, Mister Lestrade?" the man sneered as he walked closer.

Lestrade's heart began to work overtime, creating too many beats to count. Small trickles of sweat began to drip down his forehead. It mixed with the dry blood which surrounded his wound.

"You can call me Hades."

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**Reviews~ Ynnealay: Ooooooooh, you are the only one who guessed! But I can't tell you, you can find out, in either the nest or the one after that one, I'm not sure!**

**Portatore Di Notte: That means soooo much to me! I hope you don't mind, but Amethyst is going to be in the next chapter for sure ;) And as you can clearly see, I am not British, so thank-you for that. As much as I wish I was British I sadly am not ;)**

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**I'm going to stop saying sorry for chapters being short, I guess that will just be how I write this story, and probably all my fanfics. I'll work on trying to get them to be longer when some action actually happens. And yes I know that the guy's name is probablyreally cheesy but you know what :P**


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